Double Agent
by misty malone
Summary: Molliarty/Sherlolly. Molly Hooper has always loved James Moriarty, but when she's asked to spy on Sherlock for him, she can't help but fall in love with Sherlock too...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Ten-year-old Molly Hooper stared at her mother's lifeless body for one last time before leaving the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Most people would have cried, but not Molly. She hadn't made any sort of reaction since two days ago when her father told her gently, expecting her to erupt into tears. She just felt heavy inside, like the Greek god holding up the sky who she'd learnt about at school had decided to take a rest and hand the weight over to her.

The funeral was even worse. People she didn't even know kept coming and attacking her with words like '_oh you poor poor dear_' or _'such a burden on such a young thing', _thrusting tuna sandwiches at her and then asking her father if she was eating properly when she refused_. _Molly hated being the centre of attention. Mostly she just wanted to curl up somewhere small with a book and lose herself in it for a while. Alone. Where the silence would comfort her like a friend she'd had her whole life.

Soon afterwards her father became sad. Quiet. Molly thought maybe the gods had handed some of the weight of the world to him, but much more than they'd given her, as it seemed to be too heavy to do anything else but bear it. He didn't eat or talk or laugh or smile. Molly became used to this, and learnt to make meals for herself and to entertain herself in the woods by her home. She had a special spot, a perfect low branch of a tree where she'd sit and read. There were lots of other dead things in the forest, mostly squirrels, but sometimes birds and once she saw a rabbit. It didn't scare her. In fact, she liked them, and found it peaceful. She sometimes told them about things, even though she knew they couldn't hear her. They provided someone to tell about Mum and about Father, someone who wouldn't judge her like her classmates or say that she needed emotional counselling like the adults at school. Once she'd completely got over her squeamishness, she buried them after talking to them, marking the grave with a small pebble and a few leaves.

Molly finally cried half a year later. She'd found a dead cat and was rather pleased with herself, when it hit her like a wrecking ball in the stomach. Mum was dead just like her animals, her eyes staring lifelessly into nowhere, her mouth twisted into a perpetual frown, under the ground packed tight in a wooden box. She'd never sit on her Mum's lap again or have Mum kiss her again or have Mum pick her up from school again or go swimming with her again, where Mum would toss her light frame up so she'd splash down into the deep end, then ruffle her wet hair and call her 'my little dolphin' when she rose up to the surface. Molly put her head in her hands and cried, but no sound came out, the cat lying forgotten under her special branch.

A twig snapped behind her. Molly turned round, startled, her eyes still shining with overdue tears.

"Why are you crying?"

It was a boy. She recognized him from the year above in school, but never spoken to him at all, and was surprised to find he had an accent. Irish, she thought. "My mum's dead," she said, sniffing.

"I know," he said. "You're the girl who likes the dead things, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Molly said unsteadily. "How'd you know about Mum?"

"I found out. I know lots of things." He shrugged. Molly didn't know what to say, so all she could manage was "Oh." She hadn't figured out if she liked the way that the boy's eyes seemed to twinkle at her. As if they'd known each other forever.

"Are you going to talk to that cat like you usually do?" he said a touch impatiently. "It took me ages."

"Wait.. what'd you mean? What took you ages?"

"Finding the cat. Duhh."

"You put it there? You..put all of them there?"

He smiled. "I knew you liked them."

"But why?" Her eyes began to widen.

"I was bored. I get bored very easily and.. well, you gave me something to do. It's fun."

Her eyes got even bigger. "You killed them?"

"Most of them." The boy smirked. "Stop looking so startled. You look like a deer in headlights. I know lots of people who would think your obsession with dead things morbid enough." He chuckled. "Silly, silly Molly."

This should have hurt, but it felt like a welcome truth. "Yes, I s'pose you're right," she said, pausing. "What's your name?"

"Guess." He smirked, leaving her annoyed and slightly frustrated.

"How'm I supposed to know?"

"I know that you're Molly Hooper and you're ten and nine months. Your mother died of cancer half a year ago. Your favourite subjects are Science and Geography and your favourite colour's blue. You like dead things because you find them comforting seeing as your mother's dead too." He paused. "I can go on if you want."

"No, no.. it's fine," Molly said. How had he done it? It was like he had got inside her head.

"I know so much about you. Come on, you should at least be able to work out my name."

"I don't like stalking people, now I come to think of it."

He laughed. "You're feistier than I expected. You're shy at school. Anyway, no, you wouldn't, you're far too ordinary for that. Far too ordinary to know anything about anything." Molly would have protested that she was in fact top of the class in Science, but he probably knew that anyway. "You're not even trying. James Moriarty. But you have to call me Jim."

"Why?"

"Because you just do."

"OK." James – or Jim – was strange. But then again, so Molly thought, she was strange too. "Thanks for the cat," she said.

"You going to talk to it?"

Molly decided she liked the twinkle.

"No. Can I talk to you?"

"If you insist."

Over the next few months Molly learnt that Jim was very clever. A genius, actually, and he told her that he had 'big plans'. "Am I involved in these plans of yours?" she remembered asking tentatively. "Yes. You're in a few."

"What are they?"

He smirked wickedly. "Not telling. Not just yet."

They went on to the same secondary school and ended up dating. He eventually let her call him James and told her he liked the way she said it. When she was 15 and he 17, her dad was over the drinking and married again, a peroxide blonde ten years younger than him who ignored Molly at all times, who they both made a plan to get rid of. Molly was expecting it to be scary, even though she wasn't doing the actual shooting, she was just distracting her step mother. But it wasn't. During the whole thing it was like electricity was shooting through her veins, making her feel more alive than she'd ever felt before, even when she faked sobbing down the phone about the death, knowing James was safe at home and not in danger at all of being caught. There was no guilt, none at all.

Molly's father got a job in London and took her with him. The nigh before the move, she sneaked out to see James and they held each other in the darkness of his room. "They can't take you away from me," he murmured softly in her ear. "I'll be back, and we can text, can't we?"

"I'll see you again," she said, and was thinking of him all the long drive to London.

Molly remembered how her mother had told her that one day she'd meet a man who'd love her and care for her and make her happy. Somehow she thought that James Moriarty wasn't the man her mother had in mind. But did it matter?


	2. Chapter 2

_Hopefully this chapter will be a little better than before, it's more detailed than the last and involves much more Molliarty fluff..._

_I don't own Sherlock.. All credit for characters goes to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss... Enjoy _

Chapter Two

He should be here by now, thought Molly.

She glanced for the fourth time in the last five minutes at her watch. One minute past four. He was never late visiting her, not even by a minute.. God, she'd put the kettle on before he arrived because she knew he'd be that punctual. What if something was wrong? Molly knew better than to doubt him, but she still worried sometimes.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. _Relax. –JM_

Molly chuckled to herself. James was always watching her somehow, and she liked it – well, most of the time, seeing as he was away so often. Working, he called it, but Molly knew it was different, more like distracting. Distracting himself from the sameness that satisfied most people, that used to satisfy her too. Now things were different. She had no idea what life without Jim would be like; the only word that sprung to mind was boring. Petty, almost. The ordinary people saw only the tip of the iceberg of the dark, complicated maze that was James' life. He was dark, much more so than Sherlock, and exciting, very exciting.

"But can't he be on time too?" Molly muttered to herself. Toby loped up to her and rubbed himself against her legs. At least she'd always have her cat. Then she laughed because that was such an ordinary thing to think.

The doorbell chimed. Molly half-ran to open the door, and there he was, that roguish look in his eye, in a suit she didn't recognize from before, his hair neat as always, although she secretly hoped he'd let her mess it up later. "I came," he said. "What were you getting so worked up about, Molls? I'm not that unreliable."

"I was just looking forward to it, that's all," she said. "I missed you." They leaned in for a chaste kiss. Molly had forgotten what a good kisser James was. She set about pouring the tea.

"New suit," she said, hoping Toby wouldn't go and scratch at it like he always did to her clothes. He seemed visibly pleased she'd noticed. "How's it going?" he asked, and she knew exactly what he meant. He asked this every time, meaning "You're still comfortable with pretending to be completely smitten with my arch enemy in order for me to bring him down, right?"

"Good. He's still convinced. And you? With..work?"

Jim sighed. "Sebastian is starting to irritate me. He seems to have forgotten that I make the plans, and he kills who I want killed." He sipped at the tea. "Maybe I should get myself a new right hand man."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"No need. I don't care about anyone. Well, there's one exception."

Molly smiled to herself, knowing that he meant her. It was true; she was Jim's exception to the rule. The rule that he must remain unattached to anyone and anything.

"Molly?" Both Molly and James knew that voice. It was him. The one man they were both uncurably fascinated by; Molly, with how clever he was and how sometimes she didn't even have to pretend to crush on him; James having the same interest in him as a child would with a favourite toy. Sherlock Holmes. Who had arrived at precisely the wrong moment.

"Molly, you need to get out of there. Now. I saw Moriarty following you home and.. Molly? Are you in there?"

They couldn't just ignore him, but he'd know Jim was there in an instant if Molly hid him, and of course they couldn't risk him finding out. "This is going to require some acting from both of us," Jim said softly. "I won't hurt you. Trust me." She nodded.

Jim put her into a headlock. "You can come in if you want. There's a spare key under the doormat," he sneered, turning into the villain he was whenever Molly wasn't around. Ironically, she found it rather appealing. Molly wondered how the hell he knew about the spare key, but then again Jim practically knew everything.

"What have you done to her!?" Molly heard the key turn in the lock. She pretended to be in pain, hoping her acting prowess was enough to fool Sherlock's intellect. "Let her go. What's Molly done to you?"

"Oh, Molls hasn't done anything. She was just.. well.. the perfect little trap to lure you into."

"Do what he says, Sherlock. Please." The false tears sprung to her eyes easier than she'd managed before. Her tone was pained and pleading, and the concerned, angry look in Sherlock's eyes made her feel.. how to describe it? Comforted? Warm inside, because she knew he cared? Molly didn't understand. She loved Jim, he'd been her.. well, more than a friend all her life, and she'd always mentally snubbed Sherlock for being so icy towards her. Then again, he was cold towards everyone, so cold, and for the first time Molly wondered if Sherlock Holmes needed someone to give him warmth.

Sherlock sighed angrily. "What do you want?"

Molly didn't know what Jim would say. After all, this little scenario had only been created to shield their relationship and was now turning into a detailed plot that none of them knew anything about.

Jim sighed. "I was bored. You get bored too, don't you Sherlock, only you're too cowardly to entertain yourself." He paused. "I want to play. So do you. I did you a favour."

"Not now! And for god's sake don't involve my pathologist!" Molly liked that. _His _pathologist.. No, Molly, you don't love this man, she thought. She wasn't allowed to, she couldn't. It was impossible when Jim always knew what she was doing every second of every day. Sherlock reached for his gun.

Jim dropped Molly onto the couch. She pretended to splutter and gasp for breath as the two men stared at each other, loathing but yet with a nagging interest. You couldn't help but lose yourself in them, whether you were gay or straight, male or female. Molly of all people knew that.

"I'll see you at the Houses of Parliament on Sunday. Ten o clock. I don't like to be kept waiting." Jim stalked out of Molly's flat and Sherlock rushed to her side instantly. He cared.. Sherlock Holmes cared about her... "Are you all right? Do you need anything? Coffee?"

"A cup of tea would be nice, actually," she said, pretending to be shaken. And this time it was him, not Molly, who made it.

He left after half an hour of checking she really was OK. As soon as he left, Molly's phone buzzed in her pocket again. _My dear, you could win an Oscar. –JM_

Molly chuckled. Jim would be devising his plans for the Houses of Parliament and too busy to spend the night, but she found herself not minding as much.

_Why thank you. –MH _she texted back, before switching on Series Two of Glee and curling up with Toby on the sofa.

Molly couldn't get Sherlock out of her head all that night.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hello! Here's Chapter Three of my fanfic._

_So I know that this is blackmail, but I won't post Chapter Four unless I get some reviews, as right now I don't really know what anyone thinks of it :P And here's even more blackmail, Chapter Four will involve Moriarty and Sherlock's little game at the Houses of Parliament and lots and lots of Sherlolly fluff, and also possibly Molliarty fluff... Here's this chapter anyway! Love Misty xxx_

Chapter Three

Molly opened her eyes and lazily turned her head to face the clock. Eight thirty. It felt so good not to have to go to work. She decided to let sleep claim her again when her phone beeped. Who was texting her this early?

Two people, in fact. First she opened Jim's.

_Good morning. –JM_

_How's the plans for Sunday going? –MH _she replied.

_Great. Almost done with them. I must admit, choosing the Houses of Parliament was genius. –JM_

She smiled, and turned to the other text, futilely hoping that Jim wasn't planning to blow up the Prime Minister.

_I need help. Meet me at the lab at 10 o clock. –SH_

Molly cursed at this. She had no idea why Sherlock seemed to prize her over any other pathologist he could use, and on her day off! Really? Still, she had to in order to stay in character.. and more importantly, it was a chance to see him again. Sherlock was her guilty pleasure of sorts, but more like an illegal, dangerous drug. The closer she got to him, the more likely Jim would realise it wasn't just acting, and she had no idea what would happen then.

_See you there. –MH _she texted back, grabbed her dressing gown and headed to the kitchen to make breakfast. Her eyes flickered to a piece of paper that had been left on her dining room table. Molly picked it up and almost shrieked when she read it.

**Someone knows you're not pretending. Betray Moriarty and you will regret it.**

It wasn't in Jim's handwriting, and anyway, he thought she was faking her schoolgirl crush on Sherlock. Molly was terrified. Whoever had written it had to be close to her and Jim, but they'd called him by his surname.. he only used that for his 'work'...

Molly tried to push the message to the back of her mind. She put on a purple jumper and jeans, applied her lip gloss and mascara, then left her house, still shaking slightly whenever she thought of the message.

Sherlock was waiting for her in the morgue. "Hello, Molly," he said. "I brought you these." He held out a box of chocolates to her, leaving Molly in mild shock. This was the most human thing she'd ever seen him do. "Th-thank you," she said, bewildered. "But – why?"

"Just to make up for last night. I wasn't comfortable... I felt bad. About having Moriarty use you to get to me, like before. John and Mrs Hudson both said that women like chocolates." He paused. "Do you like chocolates?"

The sincerity with which he said this made Molly laugh. "Yes, Sherlock. John and Mrs. Hudson were right. So, why do you need me?"

"Four of John's ex-girlfriends have been murdered in the past three days, along with five soldiers that he worked with in Afghanistan." Molly was shocked. She knew it was Jim's doing one way or another, but what on Earth did it have to do with the Houses of Parliament? "It's him, Molly. Moriarty. I wanted you to do the post mortems, but also.. you're the only one I can tell, apart from John."

"Have you told John? Is he all right?"

"Yes, he's fine. He's had too many girlfriends to even remember their names, let alone care about if they're still alive." Molly suspected John was upset really. Sherlock was an expert on Science, but human feelings were the one subject he never could fully grasp. Sometimes Molly couldn't be sure if he had any feelings himself, either.

"I'd better get onto the post mortems."

"Could you also check for any links between the murders? I need as much information as possible."

Molly nodded. She started working happily, although the fact that they were John's exes and former friends did make it slightly less enjoyable. They had all been shot, three in the neck and the rest in the abdomen or chest. This wasn't unusual. Jim would have had his trained snipers kill them, and shooting was the easiest way of doing it. Suddenly she spotted the number one carved into one of the ex-girlfriend's backs. She thought nothing of it, but then recognised a number two on the second ex girlfriend's back. "Sherlock," she said. "Come and look at this." Sherlock wandered over to her and examined the other exes, spotting the numbers three and four. "These were done after they died," he said quickly. "They aren't deep enough to kill someone and they were all shot anyway. But why not in the head?" This hadn't occured to Molly.

"I don't know.. maybe the murderer was-" She realised it was a rhetorical question, and felt her face flush pink.

"Because Moriarty wanted us to know who they were," Sherlock said. "If they'd been shot in the head or face they would be far harder to identify.. These weren't just random killings, we were supposed to recognise them."

Sherlock's phone beeped from across the lab. Molly automatically went to fetch it. He stared at the text and Molly peered over his shoulder. _Have you got it yet? –JM_

Sherlock put it down, only to receieve another text. _You don't know. You're too ashamed to admit it. –JM_

_I haven't got it. –SH _she saw him reply.

_The clock's ticking, Sherlock. Better have it by Sunday.. –JM_

Sherlock sighed. "Take the rest of the day off, Molly."

Molly took off her lab coat, hung it up and picked up her bag. "Purple suits you. You should wear it more often," Sherlock said as she was about to leave the room. "And thank you. For helping."

"Y-you're welcome," Molly managed, before walking out, her mind in the clouds. She loved helping him. Sometimes it felt wonderful to be doing some good for a change, and she and Sherlock were so alike.. Not on either side. Neither bad nor good. It made her heart flutter.

Far away, someone watched her with disdain and narrowed eyes. Molly had fallen head over heels in love, and Moriarty was too forgiving of her to notice. Well, that was going to change.

Molly had forgotten all about the note._avjpo_


	4. Chapter 4

_Well, no one reviewed except for one VERY NICE PERSON, you know who you are and I am really really grateful._

_So I did this chapter mostly for the very nice person who actually reviewed, but I also just really wanted to write it. It also has slight Johnlock if you squint and some major character deaths in it, sorry but Jim had to kill some people off.._

_I don't own Sherlock (as much as I would like to), all credit to Moffat and Gatiss and the BBC and whatnot._

_Love Misty xx_

Chapter Four

"Molly! Molly, wake up!"

She looked at her clock. 6:37am. Dammit, why'd she have to wake up so early?

"What?" Molly said blearily. It was Sunday. Sherlock was due to meet Jim soon.

"There's been more killings. Eleven. Anderson, Donovan and a few of their colleagues, your assistant at the morgue, Anthea, Sarah, and Stamford."

Lestrade...

The victims were getting more and more closely related to Sherlock and John. Molly realised that she was only in her pyjamas and self-consciously pulled the duvet around her to prevent Sherlock from seeing. "But Sherlock.. why this early -?

"But it's obvious, Molly. They'll be aiming for you next." Yes, Sherlock was clever. Any rational criminal would have made Molly his next target. That is, except James Moriarty. Molly had known from the start that Jim would never hurt her directly, he loved her.. well, he loved her in his way, and Molly was strong enough to put up with whatever flaws his way had.

She had no idea where her next words came from. They just seemed to appear in her mind and she couldn't help but say them.

"Do you even care?"

Sherlock was stunned by this. "Molly.. of course I care."

"Why?"

He paused. "Because..because.. never mind. You need to get out of here before one of his snipers gets to you. He knows where you live."

Sherlock's phone buzzed from somewhere inside his coat. _Good try, but wrong! –JM_

He sighed heavily. "Scrap that about the snipers."

"So you're telling me you woke me up for no reason at all? Sherlock!" Molly huffed.

"No matter. You need breakfast."

"I need to go back to sleep," she muttered, but got out of bed and put her slippers on. "Do you want coffee?"

"No." As Molly went to make herself tea, Sherlock paced around her livingroom, thinking. "Wait.. twenty one.. twenty one!"

"What?" Molly yawned, and switched on the news. The headline almost made her drop her tea.

"_The entire cabinet has been killed in what is probably the largest successful assassination attempt ever recorded, with the Prime Minister the only one spared. The catastrophic event happened yesterday afternoon after several snipers found their targets making their way to the House of Commons, leaving the nation shocked and tense. But the main question is, who masterminded this operation, and how long will it be before they are brought to justice?"_

"Sherlock," she managed. "Sherlock, you need to see-"

"I know, Molly," he said, completely emotionless. "How many members of the cabinet have been killed?"

"Twenty one, but-"

"How many people we know have been killed?"

"Twenty one. Oh."

"Exactly, Molly. Think. There's twenty two people in the cabinet and..." Sherlock's brow furrowed.

"What is it?" she asked tentatively.

"John."

This was it. Ten o clock and Sherlock had put on his coat, left in a cab and gone to the Houses of Parliament. He had to leave her in the flat, of course. Sherlock wanted to face danger alone, and more importantly, Molly couldn't be there or Jim's plan wouldn't work.

Molly had Jim's plan sussed out now. It was simple: twenty one of the Cabinet were killed except the Prime Minister, twenty one of the people Sherlock had known were dead except John. Sherlock was going to have to choose between his only friend and the man who ran the country. And she had to sit in her flat and wait until all this little drama was over. It infuriated her. Why was Molly never involved in any of Jim's plans since they were children?

Because he cares too much about you, she soothed herself. Like a child who loves his favourite toy so much he doesn't bring it out at all, but leaves it at home where he knows he can't lose it. When she thought about it, Molly didn't like that analogy. It made her into a puppet. Jim's puppet and Sherlock's puppet with no mind of her own.

The doorbell rang. Molly opened it with surprise, finding that it was John. "John!" she said. "Uh.. hi! What are you..d-doing here?" If John was here, it meant he was either about to get killed, or Sherlock had picked the Prime Minister. Molly still had no idea which he would choose. John was the closest thing he had to a friend, but the Prime Minister was.. well, he was the Prime Minister.

"Did Sherlock come here? This morning?" John seemed flustered.

"Yes, he did actually. He left about an hour ago.. Why?"

"It's just – he said he needed to do something, and he wouldn't let me come, and I'm worried, Molly. He might be in danger."

"Oh," said Molly.

"Did he tell you where he went?"

"No.. I don't – he just told me he had to go for reasons that didn't concern me.."

John shook his head. "Sherlock can be so irritating sometimes, but – If he calls you or anything, let me know." He shut the door.

As soon as he did this, Molly got a text. _Molly, I just got the Prime Minister killed. –SH  
_She was somewhat relieved on the surface, but swallowed the rising sense of dread floating up from underneath. Jim had just killed the Prime Minister. If he was caught..

However, the nerves she had felt then were nothing compared to what she felt when she saw the second note lying on her kitchen table.

**Next time Sherlock won't be so lucky. And neither will you.**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

_So sorry for not updating for ages! Hope this chapter will make up for it though : ) I've put the rating up to T as this chapter involves adultish themes, but no actual smut._

_Reviews make me happy, so please tell me what you think._

_I don't own Sherlock, believe me if I did then Sherlock and Molly would be married.. All credit goes to Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat._

_Love Misty xx_

A week later and life was back to normal. Molly would get up, go to work, do a few autopsies and then come home again and satisfy herself with some form of reality TV. It was _boring, _thought Molly. There were no murders, no crimes to solve, no Jim, no Sherlock – he was lying low after the Prime Minister incident. The country was still stunned by his assassination, including John... God, if John only knew what Sherlock had done to save his life.

The one unusual thing in Molly's life was the notes, and to be honest, she was terrified of them. She couldn't tell Sherlock or Jim, or anyone for that matter, without giving away her biggest secrets. Despite the notes scaring her more and more every time she received one, Molly often told herself to stop being such a coward. It was ridiculous – James Moriarty, Consulting Criminal and possibly the most dangerous man in the world, was the person she felt safest with, and yet she was getting herself worked up by these petty little threats. The only thing Molly could do was try and work out who was sending them.

Whoever it was had to be close to Jim, but seeing as he referred to him as 'Moriarty,' not in a friendly way. He was probably someone who worked with him. Someone loyal, who always had Jim's back but did not call him by his first name. Jim's words arose in her mind. _Sebastian is starting to annoy me. He seems to have forgotten that I make the plans, and he kills who I want killed._ It finally hit her.

Sebastian Moran.

How had she not realised earlier? It was obvious now she thought about it – Moran could watch her just like Jim did, not out of love, but of suspicion. He'd picked up all the shards of betrayal that Molly had left and pieced them together to discover the truth: Molly was not faking her love for Sherlock Holmes. Moran was also a trained sniper. Molly felt a shiver run through her body. She could be killed so easily by her love's right hand man. What would Jim do then? Get rid of Moran in some way? Not himself, of course: Jim always had another man to do the dirty work for him. But Sebastian was valuable and he knew it. Could he get away with Molly's murder?

It was 9pm on Saturday night when something actually happened. Molly's phone beeped. _Open the door. –JM_

Forgetting her worries, Molly opened the door, knowing that Jim would be standing outside. He held out a bunch of lilies. Molly took them and hugged him. He hugged her back, although being Jim, he smoothed out his Westwood afterwards, making Molly smile and roll her eyes. "Jim! You didn't say you were coming!"

He smiled at her. "You know me. Full of surprises."

"How did you make the time?"

"I thought I should come. I'm going to need you to do a favour for me tomorrow."

"What?"

"You're going to be my hostage. I'm inviting Sherlock to a game of chess. Winner gets Molly. I'll tell him Sebastian's got his rifle aimed at you the whole time. Make it a little more entertaining."

So if Sherlock won, she'd be safe, and if Jim won, Molly would be shot. Except she wouldn't be. "But I'm confused, what if you win?"

"I'll just say I've changed my mind, won't get Seb to shoot you and will kidnap you instead."

Molly nodded. "Doesn't sound too bad."

"And I've given myself the night off too." He leaned forward to kiss her, starting off softly, but growing more and more passionate as the kiss went on. Molly moaned against his lips.

"Let's get you out of that Westwood, shall we?" she whispered into his ear.

Molly woke up the next day and Jim was oddly still in her flat, lying asleep next to her in his pyjamas and looking about as non-dangerous as Toby. She smiled. Yes, he was still here because of the deadly chess match between Sherlock and Jim which could possibly result in her feigned kidnap. Molly decided to let Jim sleep and get up to make the tea.

She wasn't startled by the note at first, she'd come to expect them, but this one wasn't just threatening. Moran had something planned.

**Moriarty thinks I won't be there, but really I'll be helping with his chess match. If your Sherlock loses, you won't live long enough for Moriarty to kidnap you. He'll forgive me. I'm just trying to rid my boss of a bad habit.**

It took a while for Molly's tired brain to register what Moran had written, but after a few seconds the bomb dropped. Moran wasn't taking the day off like Jim had said. Instead, he'd have the gun pointed at her anyway to protect his boss from possible betrayal. And if Jim won... Molly'd die and Jim would either get someone to avenge her death, or forgive Moran because he was just too valuable a sniper to lose.

Molly didn't feel like making the tea anymore, so she crawled back into bed where Jim was still sleeping, calmly oblivious. She wouldn't tell him. How could she? Instead, she would just try and rely on Sherlock's wits to save her this time.

Jim stirred beside her and Molly tried to forget the terrible realisations of the last ten minutes. "You look peaceful when you sleep," said Molly.

"Do you want breakfast?"

"Just a cup of tea, thanks." Jim got up. Molly noticed Toby at the end of the bed, picked him up and brought him close to her. "Oh, Toby," she whispered to the cat, "What am I going to do?" Toby purred in response, as if to say that she'd be all right, Moran was maybe lying to scare her, or Sherlock would win and she'd be safe..

Jim came in with a steaming mug of chamomile tea. Molly propped herself up on the pillows and took it from him, smiling. Acting. "Thank you," she said.

"I need to go and sort out work. Can you be dressed in two hours?" Molly nodded. "I apologise in advance for having to tie you to a chair."

"Oh, it's nothing," Molly said. He kissed her on the cheek and walked out. Molly felt like crying but couldn't, as Jim would obviously have some camera on her and run back to comfort her, which was nice, but she'd eventually have to tell him the reason for her tears. She couldn't tell Sherlock or Jim or anyone, she couldn't even express her own emotions for fear of someone knowing.

Molly was completely and utterly alone.


	6. Chapter 6

_Hah I know it's only been a few days after I posted Chapter Five, but I really couldn't wait to write this chapter : )_

_By the way, I did a little research about chess moves, openings etc, but if I get anything wrong do excuse me as I'm not really sure of the rules.._

_Hope you like it, but please review if you can, cos I update much faster if I get reviews!_

_As always, I don't own Sherlock or any of the characters, all credit goes to Moffat, Gatiss and Arthur Conan Doyle._

_Love Misty xx_

Chapter Six

Molly watched Jim from across the room. He was impatient, fingers drumming on the armrest, and his hair had been slicked back rather sexily, although she preferred it normal and ruffled. Her and the consulting criminal were in their places – Molly tied to a chair, as loosely as Jim could manage without it looking deliberate, and Jim in the armchair opposite her, the marble chessboard waiting on the coffee table. All they needed now was Sherlock.

Sherlock didn't bother with the doorbell. After all, he did know where her spare key was now. He burst into Molly's livingroom. "Molly," he said, breathless. He turned to Jim. "I told you to leave her alone!"

"Ah, Sherlock. Nice of you to join us," Jim smirked. "Sorry about Molly. I know you said.. but.. oh, I just couldn't resist. It's charming how much you care about her. Really, it is."

"Untie her. Now."

"Whoops. I'm afraid my sniper has his gun on her right now. I would untie her, but then something might _happen_ to her!" he almost sang, his Irish drawl particularly strong.

While the two men were distracted, Molly strained and managed to turn her head enough to seea a figure on the balcony of the block of flats opposite her. She could just make out a gun in his hands poised to shoot her through the head. Molly crossed her fingers. Please, Sherlock, she thought, please win. For me.

Sherlock admitted defeat. "What do I have to do?"

"Easy. Outsmart me."

"At chess? I thought you'd go for something a little more dramatic. More your style."

"Oh Sherlock, but there's a catch. You lose and Molly gets hurt. And neither of us want that to happen, do we?" Sherlock gazed down at his hands. Molly shot him a brave look. He looked back and breathed out heavily. For a second Molly decided to swap their roles. If she were him, she'd find the pressure crushing. What would it be like to have to play a simple game where losing would kill your friend? She cursed herself internally. You're not his friend, Molly Hooper, she thought, Sherlock Holmes doesn't have friends except for maybe John.

"So, I'm playing as white, then."

Jim sighed. "Too obvious. Don't be so boring. In fact, I might play as white." He smiled. "Which means I go first."

"All right. Go on, then. Make your first move." Jim moved a pawn. Sherlock raised his eyebrow in recognition. "Irish gambit. Bit of a weak opening, just for the sake of seeing if I'll recognise it."

"Well done," Jim said. Sherlock moved his knight into the space next to Jim's pawn.

Molly wasn't really concentrating on the game: she found chess dull, too much hard work and too many rules. Her hands were gripping the sides of the chair, her knuckles almost turning white. Calm down, Molly, she told herself. It's just a game and Sherlock will win and you'll be safe... Her hands relaxed on the armrests. She tried to forget that for her, this was a life or death situation. Sherlock seemed to be winning, but how would she know? She had never played in her life, and although he had taken more of Jim's chess pieces, Jim seemed very confident.

She started to feed herself false hopes. It'll be fine. Everything. Will. Be. Fine. She couldn't stop her hands from trembling. Jim must think I am amazing at acting, she thought, trying to lighten her thoughts somehow. It didn't work.

Molly then heard the three words that would spell out her doom.

"Sorry, Sherlock. Checkmate."

Molly was surprisingly calm. She turned again to see Moran, but Sherlock saw where she was looking, and noticed the sniper too. He wasn't noticably sad, but Molly could sense something... something inside him was wrong. Like it was with her father when he was dying. I could die at any moment, thought Molly. It hadn't sunk in yet at all. "I win," said Jim. "Now I think about it, I might just kidnap Miss Molly instead." But Sherlock wasn't listening. He got up and stood in front of Molly.

It was that split second when the gun fired and Sherlock fell to the ground, unconscious. Dead?

Jim and Molly, shaken by the blast, were stunned into silence. "No! But this wasn't meant to happen. Moran.. it was his day off.. You would have died..." For once the consulting criminal was speechless.

"Jim. Untie me and then get out of here. I'll call the paramedics. I think it's only in his side, he won't die from it." Molly still seemed level headed, but inside she was screaming.

He skillfully untied her bounds. Molly stood up, stretched her legs and then kissed him on the cheek. "Go. I'll see you soon."

Jim nodded and then ran out of her flat. Molly dialled 999. "Hello... ambulance services please.. a man's been shot.. Yes... not fatally but he's bleeding... Thank you." The paramedics would be there in ten minutes. Molly searched her house for the temporary bandage she had. It would stem the blood flow at least, which would prevent any further damage with blood loss.

Molly glanced over at the balcony where Moran had shot from, expecting to see that he'd fled too, or maybe he was still there, still aiming for her. She took in a sharp breath. Blood was dripping to the faraway ground from Moran's dead body. He'd been shot too. But by who?

None of that mattered now. Sherlock was all that mattered.

After she stemmed the bleeding, Molly tentatively lifted Sherlock's head onto her lap and ran her hands through his raven curls, something she'd always wanted to do. Sherlock's eyes flickered open. Molly usually would have pushed his head off her lap in embarassment, but there was something in his eyes. He seemed so little and lost for once, and Molly couldn't help but hold him. "Molly," he said. "Molly, what happened?"

"You were shot. Y-you need to rest." Molly paused. Sherlock was gazing up at her, his eyes so peaceful, even as he lay wounded in her arms, and a voice arose from inside her head. Molly, the voice said, this is probably the only time you and Sherlock will get without being watched. Use it.

Molly bent down and kissed him softly.

She clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh no. Oh my god, I am so sorry.." Why had she been so stupid?

But Sherlock was laughing. "Don't be, Molly. That was.. that was nice." Molly's insides felt like they were melting. He cared about her. He maybe even loved her.

Her heart felt warm and fuzzy, but she knew she couldn't go on like this. It was Sherlock or Jim. And if she didn't choose soon enough, Molly's world would collapse.


	7. Chapter 7

_Sorry I haven't updated.. My laptop is dying so I might not update as quickly as I have before but I'll do my best!_  
_In case anyone was getting confused as to when this story is set, I've decided that it starts post Scandal in Belgravia and just kind of misses out Hounds of Baskerville. _  
_Thank you all for the reviews, I really appreciate them._  
_Love Misty xx_

Chapter Seven

Molly hadn't seen Jim for ages and she was getting worried.  
He'd felt guilty about Sherlock getting shot - not because of Sherlock being hurt, because it could have so easily been her. But why would Jim stay away from her that long? He wasn't planning anything that she knew of, and he hadn't texted or called her for weeks.  
Meanwhile, Sherlock was recovering well from the bullet wound in his side. He was going to come out of hospital in a few weeks. The sooner, the better, thought Molly. Scotland Yard was struggling without him. John helped them instead, though he was nowhere nearly as good, and was rather scared they'd realise his own secret.  
John had told her that he had seen Sherlock leave when he was going to Molly's flat for the chess match. He'd followed him, but then saw Moran heading for the building opposite Molly's.  
It had been him who shot Sebastian Moran.  
In the few weeks that Sherlock was still in hospital, Molly had almost nothing to do. The press were making a huge fuss of Sherlock and his injury - there were new headlines every day, each saying completely different things. 'Is Sherlock dead?' 'Amateur detective may not survive the week.' 'Internet boffin set to make full recovery.' Most of what they said had been completely fabricated. It somewhat amused Molly.

She worked at St Barts during the week, but with no Sherlock to make her come in on weekends and at ridiculous times of night, Molly was living a placid existence, and strangely she found herself liking it. It was as if Sherlock and Jim - the two men who had made her life anything but ordinary - had simply disappeared, leaving Molly and her cat in peace. Peace was boring, yes, but she basked in it for the few weeks that she could.  
It couldn't last, of course, and after three weeks Sherlock was back to detective work again, which meant resuming her duties as 'his' pathologist. Nothing had changed between them because of the kiss. It was as if he'd forgotten it.  
It was one night when they were working on hair growth after death that Molly thought of something she considered as a stroke of genius on her part. "Sherlock," she stammered, "what happened to Ji- Moriarty? After you got shot? It's just that I'm worried he'll-"  
"Kidnap you again? No, my brother's made sure he won't do anything of the sort for quite some time." Sherlock smiled at her before turning to the dead woman's hair follicles again.  
His brother? wondered Molly. Wait, wasn't his brother working for the government? Oh, she realised, they've taken him.. She felt a surge of worry for Jim, but then again he was the world's most dangerous man. He'd get out of this one somehow. Molly just prayed he hadn't somehow found out about the kiss - and if he had, she hoped he'd dismiss it as acting.  
"Um," she said, "do you remember anything? After getting shot?" Molly didn't know whether she wanted Sherlock to remember the kiss or not. If he did, he obviously didn't want anything like that to happen again.  
"Molly, you should know I don't, I had Grade Two concussion. Why were you asking?"  
"I don't know - I just -"  
"Then stop wasting time and prepare the chemicals I told you to."  
Molly sighed and pulled out a bottle of iodine and a test tube of phosphorous from the cupboards. Sherlock didn't remember at all and if anything he was just becoming more and more hostile towards her.  
Molly hurried home that night as the rain blew into her face and sudden gusts of wind turned her umbrella inside out. She unlocked the door to her flat, collapsed on the sofa, and switched on Coronation Street. Look at me, she mused sadly, alone, lusting over one man who doesn't give a shit about me, and another who is probably being brutally interrogated at the moment. After the programme had ended, she fell asleep on the sofa, while her faithful cat perched beside her and hoped her dreams were sweet.

The next day was Molly's day off. After sleeping in until eleven, hoping Sherlock hadn't needed her in the lab, and making breakfast - low fat muffins to be precise - she went out to get a newspaper.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Jim's face was on the front page of every single newspaper in the entire shop.

Oh Jim, she thought, what have you done now?

In fact, he'd stolen the Crown Jewels. The Crown Jewels! And apparently he hadn't taken them for himself, he'd just tried the damn things on, sat on the throne and waited for them to take him away. Why? Maybe he was bored - but more importantly, how'd he escaped the clutches of the British Government?

Molly bought a newspaper and went home, dazed and mildly amused.

_Missed me? -JM_  
_Jim! Oh thank God! How'd you get out? -Molly_  
_Secrets, darling, secrets. -JM_  
_Come see me soon? -Molly_  
_I'll be busy for a while, darling. I'll come and see you when I can. -JM_  
Molly paused before gingerly pressing the send button.  
_I love you. -Molly_


	8. Chapter 8

_Hi everyone! _  
_I realise that I have slightly messed up by killing Anderson and Donovan, seeing as they are basically the ones who persuade Lestrade to arrest Sherlock, but we'll have to pretend that someone else does just for this fanfic, as I want everything to happen like it does in Reichenbach. Sorry._  
_Part of this chapter is Jim's POV, which I hope I got right, although he may be slightly OOC._  
_This is the last actual chapter of Double Agent, I'm going to write an epilogue and then it'll be finished :( _  
_These aren't my characters, they belong to Moffat, Gatiss, the BBC and Arthur Conan Doyle._  
_Love Misty xx_

Chapter Eight

Molly did not hear from Jim for three weeks after that.  
He was probably busy, she reassured herself. In fact, he was certainly busy. She had read the newspapers, and her head was still reeling.. Not guilty. How on earth had he managed to get the jury to proclaim him not guilty? (Actually, Molly had a pretty good idea how.. but she tried not to think too much about that.)

It was one rainy Monday evening when everything changed.  
Molly was about to leave the lab after work. She felt like she had hit a new low. No Jim - had she done something wrong? Did he not want her cluttering up his life anymore, or was he just too occupied with his so called work to think about her, let alone try to talk to her? Then there was Sherlock. Molly knew she shouldn't be upset about it, but there'd been a moment the week before where she tried to reach out to him. Why had she even said anything at all? She should have stayed quiet, but no, instead she had offered to help him with whatever he needed because 'he looked sad when no one could see him.' And he'd replied with words that stabbed her through the heart. "What could I need from you?"

Molly didn't matter. She didn't count, she was nobody, nobody of importance to anyone except possibly a cat and that was just because she fed it. She was just about to open the door when she heard a voice and squeaked with shock before realising. It was Sherlock's voice. He was bothering to talk to her.  
"You were wrong, you know." She was too bewildered to speak. "You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you." He paused. "But you were right, Molly. I'm not OK."  
"Tell me what's wrong," she said. He took a step closer to her. She couldn't believe it: all the hostility he'd shown her recently, and now this?  
"Molly, I think I'm going to die."  
Yes, snapped her cynical side, you are going to die, if Jim's got anything to do with it.  
"What do you need?"  
"You."

This was the only time she didn't mind staying at work after her shift because of Sherlock Holmes. He told Molly everything, and while she admired Jim's plan, she couldn't help but feel sorry for the detective. He'd had everything and then lost it in a flash. Not that she thought the new found fame had made any impact on his already inflated ego at all, but she couldn't imagine what it would be like to be shamed and doubted just because society was so stupid and, well, Jim was so clever. Sherlock had also told her about some cameras he'd found in the lab. He'd broken them a few days ago and since then there had been no sign of new ones appearing. She almost sighed with relief. Jim could have been watching them right now and.. and she had no idea what he'd do.  
But it was afterwards when Molly found herself helping Sherlock like she told him she could, if he needed her - and not just helping him with an experiment or something, she was saving his life. All she'd had to do was provide him with the botulism and fake blood, and then make sure she was the one doing his autopsy. Suddenly her mood had lifted. Maybe she did matter.

The next morning she woke up happy, and had not given one thought to Jim. Jim, who rang her doorbell when she was making a pot of tea. Molly opened it and smiled. "Jim!" she said, a touch too brightly. "How are you? I've missed you, you haven't talked to me in so long."  
He smiled, but his smile was wrong. It didn't reach his eyes. "It's all right, Molly," he said softly. "You don't have to pretend."  
And that was when Molly knew that Jim knew.  
"Pretend.. what?" she pronounced quietly.  
"A lot of things, actually. You don't have to pretend you've missed me. You don't have to pretend that your feelings for Sherlock are an act. It's my fault, really, I shouldn't have used you like I did and then expected you not to develop affections for Sherlock Holmes." He paused. "You don't have to pretend that you love me."  
Molly found her voice. "But I do love you!" she cried, and closed the gap between their lips. It only took a second for Jim to start kissing her back. They finally pulled apart. "But you love Sherlock too," he said, and she looked down at her feet.  
Why wasn't he angry? "I couldn't - I - I'm really sorry -" she wavered.  
"Don't be," Jim said. "I love you. Thank you, Molly Hooper." He started to walk towards the door, and Molly's mind sprung into action. She couldn't leave it like this.  
"Sherlock's faking his death," she blurted.  
He nodded. Molly had expected more of a reaction. Jim looked her in the eye one last time, and then left.

Jim hailed a cab to St Bart's. He'd known for quite some time about Molly's affections, and although he trusted her, he hadn't wanted to tell her about his plan. The final problem. She could so easily tell Sherlock, and then all his efforts would have been for nothing.  
What were they all for anyway? Distraction and entertainment, but why Sherlock? And why Molly?  
Molly was trustworthy, caring, all traits that were so prized among ordinary people - and so normal. So normal, but somehow not so boring. She was prepared to do anything for Jim, and what had he done? Nothing, except tie her to chairs occasionally, use her as bait for the great consulting detective, and then visited her once in a blue moon. He sighed internally. It all made him feel very guilty, and guilt was not a feeling Jim Moriarty liked at all, or was used to.  
So what had it all been for, his life? Because life had to have a purpose, otherwise it was meaningless. It was only then when he realised that Molly had been his life's purpose. And now he didn't even have her anymore. What was the point?  
No. He was wrong, he could still do something for Molly Hooper. He could make her happy. (Jim definitely wasn't used to making people happy, but there was always a first time for everything.) And in order to make Molly Hooper happy, he had to get out of her life and let Sherlock live.  
It was a big thing to do for somebody, Jim pondered, but then if you love someone - and he guessed his feelings for Molly were love - then you so things for them, and seeing as he'd done nothing for her, she deserved it.  
But deep down he knew that he would always be there, that he would not be able to help but watch her, that he wouldn't be able to let go of what they lost. So to truly make Molly happy, he had to act like Sherlock wasn't faking his death, and kill himself.  
Oh well. Death would be just another distraction. He stepped out of the cab outside St Bart's. "Farewell, Molly Hooper," he whispered. "I'll smile on you in hell."

It was precisely 10:07am when James Moriarty shot himself in the head and precisely 10:16am when Sherlock Holmes died but did not die.  
And it was precisely 3:42pm when Sherlock Holmes knocked on the door of Molly's flat to be greeted with a smile and a "Would you like some coffee?"  
They sat down on the sofa - Sherlock had refused, although uncharacteristically thanked her for the offer - and Molly asked him how it went.  
He wasn't listening. His eyes scanned the flat with curiosity. Deducting. Molly felt a pang of dread shoot through her body. Finally, Sherlock looked at her. "You," he said, "and Moriarty?"  
She trembled, before replying, "Yes. Me.. me and Jim."  
Sherlock looked down at his hands and closed his eyes.  
"Sherlock, what happened? On the roof?"  
"Molly," he said softly, cautious, "Jim isn't coming back."  
It took Molly a few seconds to process what Sherlock had just told her. "No," she said simply. "He is. You're wrong..." Molly realised the only person she was trying to convince was herself. She couldn't stop herself from crumpling in front of him, and she knew she had lost all full control of her wits when she began to cry on his shoulder. And maybe Sherlock had lost his mind too, because he put his arm round her and held her there.  
Molly didn't know how long they stayed like that, but eventually she sat up and wiped the tears from her eyes.  
"So, the kiss meant nothing," Sherlock said.  
"What.. No! You remember that? Oh my god.."  
"It did mean something?"  
"Yes.. Sherlock, if you hadn't already figured it out, I have fallen in love with you," said Molly, and Sherlock smiled knowingly. If she was going to confess, she thought, she might as well tell him everything. "But I couldn't, because.. Because of Jim. The kiss.. Well, that was the only time I could possibly be alone with you without him watching, so.."  
"So you kissed me."  
"So I kissed you. And you said it was nice." Molly started to laugh. She felt light, like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.  
"It was nice," he said. Somehow they found themselves kissing again.

Well, thought Molly, she supposed now she didn't have to pretend to be anybody. She didn't have to be a mousy, shy pathologist around one person, and then a dark, backstabbing traitor around another. She could be Molly Hooper, who mattered and was loved by not just her cat and who counted.  
And for the first time in a while, she felt free.


	9. Epilogue

Last ever part of this fanfic :(  
Thank you so much to everyone who read and reviewed this, you have been so encouraging, wonderful and just generally awesome and you are all the reason I keep writing.  
As always reviews are very much appreciated.  
I don't own these characters, but I do own Jamie and Lily yay :)  
Love Misty x  
Lily Hooper-Holmes was writing a book.  
A book about the invertabrates in her back garden to be precise, including detailed sketches and information she'd acquired herself on the typical behaviour of each species. She really was rather proud of herself. That is, until her idiot brother went and kicked a football right at her and the book fell into the mud.  
"Jamie!" she hissed. "I am telling Mum and you are so dead."  
"It was an accident, Lils. Calm down."  
"Don't call me that," Lily scowled, then paused to look him up and down. "You've been eating the eclairs again, haven't you? Three of them."  
Jamie chuckled. "What else have I been doing, Little Miss Genius?"  
"Well, there's poo on your trousers for a start. And traces on your football boots."  
"Really? How can you tell, the molecular build up or something sciency?"  
"No, it just stinks."  
Jamie's face fell.  
"I should go and change my trousers." He got up to leave when Lily interrupted.  
"Jamie, you do know who you're named after?"  
"Nooo, why?"  
"Isn't it obvious?" Jamie stayed silent so she pushed her dark curly hair from her face and continued. "You know about how until you were two, and I was seven months, everyone thought Dad was dead except Mum? And the man who forced Dad to fake his death was called James Moriarty?"  
"Are you seriously suggesting I'm-"  
"Let me finish! Why would Mum and Dad call their first born James if Dad's worst enemy was called James? Too many negative connotations - except if Mum and Moriarty were in a relationship."  
Jamie laughed. "Why would Mum be in a relationship with Moriarty?"  
"It's possible."  
He nodded. "If you say so. I'll go and change my clothes." He ran off down the garden leaving Lily in peace to salvage her handwritten book. It was a bit mud spattered, but it wasn't too bad, she thought. She added in the final shading and then followed Jamie back to the warmth of the house with a rare smile playing at her lips.


End file.
